Checkmate
by Maymer
Summary: Life is not a game of chess, it is a game of poker. Each player begins with a different hand, but it is not the cards that determine the outcome, it is the skill of the player. Life is a game of poker, and the stakes are high.


Grim footsteps echo around the circular room. Steep steps lead down to the centre of the cold, stone chamber. As he steps forward, flames leaps up behind him and arc slowly around the perimeter, creating a ring of fire. He looks around. Nothing's changed since he was last here. Except one thing. Where once there was an ancient mirror, there now stood an angular granite throne. And on the throne…

Voldemort.

He grips his wand tighter and as he lifts a foot to begin his descent, the pale figure, leaning casually on one arm of his ceremonial chair, speaks.

"You're late."

He stays silent, his pace deliberately controlled and slow, his breathing heavy and measured as he forces himself to keep calm. He hears the man he came here to kill chuckle.

"Not in a talkative mood? You never were that type, were you, boy? So like me all those years ago…"

He was puzzled. He had become strong in the past few years…nearly invincible. An ageing wizard losing his magic against a young man at the zenith of his power. Surely the man knew he was going to die? Why was he so…relaxed? He knew the one thing the "Lord" feared was death, and yet…there he was…alone and weak and _calm._

"Very fitting location, I think, don't you? The scene of our first battle shall also be the arena of our last"

He manages to choke out one word quietly.

"'Home'? Well…I suppose you could say that was our first battle, but no, our first _real_ battle was here. It's the first one you remember anyway. When you were a baby…you were a fluke, but here…here you became my adversary, no longer my prey. How can either of us meet a worthy ending anywhere but here? Though, again, that was hardly a proper fight. You did not fight me, you fought Quirrell. Oh well."

He reaches the last step, and the slouching figure hasn't moved. One thought circles around his mind, over and over _Why are you doing this? Why didn't you just curse him from the doorway and just leave?_ A mere twenty feet away from the thing he hates most in life, he can answer that question. _Because I want to see the look of his face when he dies…I want to see his body slump…I want to know beyond doubt that it's all over_.

He hears that low chuckle again. Mentally, he kicks himself. What idiot forgets of Voldemort's accomplishments in the art of Leglimency?

"My, my, how you've grown. I always saw our resemblance, but who would believe how cruel the mind of the Boy Who Lived could be? Most would cower behind a pillar near the entrance, stay as far away as possible. But it's not the same, is it boy? Under different circumstances, you would have been such a _potent_ disciple," he paused, for a second, and with an amused tone continued "Did you know there are theories that you're my son?"

He can't stop the horror from flooding onto his face, his heart skips a beat, and for a second, he forgets to breath. The sight is obviously too humorous for mere chuckling, as the chilling laugh that haunts dreams echoes loudly around the room. No longer resting on the throne arm, Voldemort leans forward, forearms on lower thighs, as if conspiring with him.

"You don't see it then…Or don't want to see it…" once again, trailing off, before muttering to himself, "Perhaps I should have left that mirror here…." his voice returned to a normal volume "Of course, the lack of physical resemblance is obviously evidence against - although when I was young I was _devilishly_ handsome, and I used it to get my way. Much like you do - but I believe these speculations are based around the belief that the curse overrode most of your inherited personality with my own, and therefore I am more of your father than James ever was."

_Never_.

"Quite. How clichéd." In a mocking tone, he added "Harry, _I _am your father" he shook his head, smirking. "However, today you are displaying traits that are _coincidentally_ similar to mine. A dramatic flair, for instance. That's the reason you couldn't kill me before, or from the doorway; _it has to be done right!_ It's hardly worth it all just for a sniper shot. You can't see the light fade from their eyes, can't stand over their cooling flesh as they collapse, can't know that you are in complete control, _that you have power_!"

_All those of years of suffering a struggle, to not see your face as your soul leaves your body, of course not!_

"Indeed. it's been your life's mission to kill me, save all of the pathetic wizards who follow you like lost cats, or hate you just because you're alive. And what will you do once you have a achieved your goal? What will you have to work for? How can you play the hero when the enemy is dead? You'll no longer be special, because there's no one left to fight, especially not my followers - I know how strong their loyalties are, and I will not fool myself believing that they will stay faithful if I die - truly die that is, not like last time…" He looked him hard in the eyes, "What will you do, boy? Though, I suppose I can't call you boy any more, but what will you do? Get married to Miss Weasley, perhaps? Ah, you bristled. I've touched another nerve, the delightful little redhead. Don't worry, I never had any intentions of going after her. And now you've deflated slightly. That means that some part of you believes me. All that research and hardship trying to keep her safe for nothing, eh?" he laughed again "no, without a second glance I could kill the rest of that peasant hovel - you've seen me do that - but not her. I have a reputation for punishing traitors severely, it's common knowledge, but people always forget that I reward the loyal."

_No! Ginny would never…no!_

"She has, like you, a psychological link with my mind. Remember, I did possess her all those years ago. I hold some affection for her for opening the Chamber - though perhaps 'affection' is the wrong word - either way, she's a useful tool; her thoughts are always so delightfully clear to me. Wonderfully organised mind. I am confident that I understand her better than she understands herself. Did you know she was pregnant?" He paused to study his rival's face. "I'll take that as a 'no'. Yours, of course, she's a Gryffindor to the core, unfortunately. For me at least - powerful, cunning and loyal is a rarer combination that you would think. For you, I presume that's a source of great pride. Huh." he said, clearly amused "Isn't it ironic that she is my best informant, and follower, and she does it without even realising? Do you remember the Paris incident? Of course you do. She provided more information for that than all of my Death Eaters combined. And she did it all without realising! Poor girl, you should have spent less time protecting her and more time teaching her Occlumency." He closed his eyes and seemed to relish the boy's sudden sense of shame and guilt. She was the most powerful witch he knew, why had he tried so hard to do something she could do, and forget about what she could not? As if reading these thoughts (which he probably was), Voldemort said, in a mocking tone "Because you love her." He paused again, looking thoughtful, as if trying to recall a memory "The Paris incident…yes, yes that was definitely unintentional, but she always was a smart one, she knew her mind was being invaded, so she learnt Occlumency by herself. But she's always sure to leave a few appetisers on display to grab my attention…she never told me why…I presume the principle is that if she feeds me rather trivial information, I'll ignore the more important snippets, but I also believe she has realised that I know of her plan. And so, if I am not falling for her bait, why is she helping me? This leads me to conclude that she is love with me."

_Bastard! No!_

"Perhaps I should rephrase? She is in love with Tom Riddle, before he started splitting his soul and becoming me."

_No! You were going to kill her…no!_

"Ah, the workings of the female mind, eh? No, before I went rather psychopathic on her, I had to be kind and witty and charming. I listened to her when the boy of her dreams failed to notice she existed. And you forget, I was handsome back then, and so _persuasive_. Any girl would fall for that. And we all know how good she is at getting over childhood crushes, don't we?" He looked pointedly at Harry's (ring-less) hand "Better marry her quick, for honour's sake. And white is never flattering on any bulge. But we have let ourselves be sidetracked from our main topic of conversation. What will you if-"

_Once!_

"…if you kill me? Settle down? Raise a family? And what about work? Your inheritance can't and won't last forever. You're not imaginative enough to be employed in any creative way, though I suppose you could get a reasonable sum for a book deal for your story. _Harry Potter: the man behind the legend_? _Harry Potter and the Pile of Absolute Drivel_? Oh, stop glaring, leave it to someone who's actually good at it. But I'll take as a sign to not hold my breath for your _riveting _autobiography. And so, where does that leave us? You won't look for some quiet, non-descript employment. Your only option is the Ministry."

_No. Not those bastards. I'll work for Fred and Geo-…I'll work for Fred._

"No you won't. I'll agree with you that working for such an incompetent and backstabbing organisation holds no appeal, but you'll choose that over anything else. Because otherwise people will start to forget you. You'll be old news, just a page in the history books. All your life, reduced to a few lines of text. All your emotions and hopes and fears a dreams discarded for solid fact. You'll just be ordinary. You'll no longer be the Boy Who Lived, you'll just be plain, ageing Harry Potter."

_That'll happen to you too._

"Oh, no boy. You forget; I intend to live forever."

_That can't last!_

"But I can prolong it. You see, the world is full of heroes, who through the myths become so annoyingly perfect. Evil - although I hate the term; like everything in a human's life, it is merely a matter of opinions and differing morals - however, remains fresh and raw and imperfect. It is magnetic and it is attractive. _Good_ is hard work and toil and sacrifice, _Evil_ is pleasure and comfort and power. And humans are such vile creatures. We love brutality and atavistic behaviour, even though we dress it up and call it 'society'. Morbid fascination and lust is what drives this world."

_And greed_.

"Correct, you're finally catching on, boy. I personify evil. Through me, those too weak or scared can see what they dream they could achieve. Through me, they see a world of absolute freedom, with no morals, no boundaries, and no rules. Through me they can be who they want to be and do what they want. What does _Good_ offer them?"

_Just blinded by fear! I kill you, I kill the temptation._

"And save the flock from the wolf? Such a kind shepherd. Can't you see? If I die, _Evil will not die with me_! Don't be a fool, you cannot kill _Evil_, because with out it, there is no _Good_. And so, I shall live forever."

…_What?…that is the most twisted logic I have ever heard…_

Voldemort tilted his head back, closing his eyes and sighed in frustration before locking his piercing gaze into green eyes, "Last time, there were those who hoped I was gone, but most didn't believe it. What will be different the second time? And then, when the hype fades, there will be a few smart enough to see a future for them as me. A copycat, if you will. For why start from scratch when you can continue a legacy already begun? And through them , I shall never die."

…_no one copies the heroes…_

"Precisely. And if I die here and now, by your hands, I will know who will continue my work, and I am fairly confident that it shall continue as the power driving the world." he smirked and spoke tauntingly, "I suppose you'll want to know who it is, don't you?"

…_yes…_

"It's simple. It's you."

As pain spread through his body, he wondered if the 'Dark Lord' had cursed him whilst he tried to make sense of that information. He hadn't seen a wand, but there were more ways to kill than by using an enchanted stick.

Voldemort, again leaning against the chair arm, head supported by claw-like hand, looked thoroughly entertained. After perhaps a minute, he decided to comment, "From what I heard, breathing is an essential function of life."

He looked confused, until he realised that there was no activity in his lungs. He inhaled cautiously, which turned into a suffocated gasp as his brain finally told him that he was an idiot and _to breathe damnit!_ It also noted the pain was fading.

"Lactic acid build up." he looked quizzically at Voldemort, who continued, though slightly frustrated, "lactic acid, boy! Don't they teach you basic human biology any more? When cells cannot access oxygen, they begin to respire anaerobically, producing a by-product of lactic acid, which poisons cells, which causes pain."

…_how the hell do you know that?_

"There was a Healer shortage, and so every student with more than two brain cells was 'encouraged' to study basic human biology. And you can hurt far better if you know precisely where every single cell is and how it works. Unlike my minions, I at least acknowledge that Muggles must have been doing _something_ of use in their worthless lives." The accompanying grin had far too many teeth and his tone far too much malice for Harry to hear the hint of relish and satisfaction in his voice.

"But again, you try to distract me. You cannot avoid the subject forever, and we've wasted far too much time as it is. If you were going to kill me, you would have done so by now."

_No! Mind tricks! You're manipulating me! _

"Well, yes. That is rather like what I generally do. But all the same. If I had not spoken, there is a high chance that you would have begun a mind-numbing speech about honour, glory, revenge etcetera. I really don't have the patience for such things. And I want you to know some of the things that have occurred to me during our war. From what I have seen from our past encounters, and today's nice little chat, I can deduce the possible outcomes: Kill me, go home, fade into obscurity. Highly unlikely, you have Slytherin's pride in you; kill me, go home, work for the Ministry, be their publicity pet. Again highly unlikely, you have strong morals and still hold a grudge against them; kill me, go home, become bored, go insane, probably of boredom and post traumatic stress. Quite likely, you're already slightly unhinged, but unfortunately worried little Weasley would have you committed 'for the good of the people'; Kill me, go home, allow the seed of ideas that I have planted grow and take my place as the next generation of my reign. Likely, very likely, and achievable. They say that I am not omnipotent because I work alone and cannot care. I have always laughed when I hear this, but perhaps I shall be proved wrong, as your Queen rules her dominion with a powerful iron fist. Don't look at me like that, boy, if you were to choose this, she would follow whole-heartedly."

_You're wrong. I don't care what you say about her, she would never_-

"Of course she would. You think I only visit her mind for Order information? She often talks about herself and you, you know. And she is smart enough to know how strong she is, and how morals will never get you far in a world run by the powerful. She knows that she has potential, and that together, you could become nigh unstoppable. That's tempting. And now our last choice. You don't kill me."

Harry allowed himself to give a short bark of laughter.

"You don't kill me, but we partake in our usual spectacular duelling, with the customary high levels of destruction. One or both of us manages to escape and we'll continue our age-old passion until one of us finally dies."

_Then you shall still di-……bastard_.

Voldemort rolled his eyes "If you must use coarse language, at least have some _variety_. But I'm curious. What was the reason behind it this time?"

"I can't win," Harry spoke quietly, surprising them both. Until this point he had allowed his thoughts to communicate. What was the point in speaking when the other half of the conversation could read your mind? "I can't win. If I were to assassinate you, then whatever I do, my future will not be pleasant. If I allow you to live, you will destroy everything I love, and I will probably be consumed with guilt for ignoring this opportunity. In a twisted way, you will teach me, and I shall teach you, we will both learn more of the other's strengths, and try to copy them, whilst identifying his weaknesses and attempt to avoid the same in ourselves. There is a fifty percent chance that in this, I shall die. You have no qualms about killing, and without me, you are no longer threatened. If you die, the outcome is the same as if I were to kill you now."

Voldemort seemed to consider his words, something that was worryingly similar to a smile on his cruel lips. "Correct," he said slowly, levelly. He leaned back on his throne, an Emperor of his realm, and yet also a school master testing his favourite student, "And so, Harry Potter," he paused, their eyes locking in an unblinking stare.

"What will you do?"


End file.
